Shiver
by melancholic
Summary: [AU, Rogue&Gambit] A thief looking for some fun, and a rogue scared of touch. Put them in a club, and what do you get? A game that either is not going to win easily. FINALLY updated!
1. Queen of Runaround

**Disclaimer:** Marvel doesn't give us fan fiction writers enough credit, do they? I mean, if you look at the story plots for Gambit and Rogue in their comics right now, then you'd understand why fan fiction is much more preferable. ;) Oh, and I don't own the lovely song used for this fic. That would be Maroon 5's "Shiver," of course. That being said, Adam Levine _will_ be mine (…hey, I can keep dreaming, you know)!

If there's anything in this story that I do own, then it would be its the club _Toucher_ (uncanny; in French, it means "to touch"; hopefully, you'll see why later). And, although I'd want to own them, I'm placing cameos for my author friends here, as well as advertising their fics. Ishandahalf (a.k.a. Trish) is up first – I'm going to take your Barbie doll and shave its head if you don't know who she is:p Ish totally rocks for putting up with me through e-mail. Enjoy, Ishy! ;)

**A/N:** Yay, another fic from me! Well, I'll try not to be too disappointing this time. In terms of updating, I mean. Anyway, this was originally intended to be a hot, fluffy, plot-less one-shot, but I decided to cut it into five chapters, with two interludes somewhere in between. The chapter titles are taken from a line that stands out from the five stanzas of the song "Shiver." Lend it your ears; it's great!

Since this is my first time to write an "R" fic (for implied themes), I apologize for any awkwardness in here. Let's hope I have beginner's luck!

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_**Shiver**_** by melancholic**

**1. Queen of Runaround**

The lights were dazzling, the liquor and ladies, intoxicating. As the disco ball of the club known as _Toucher_ continued rotating, the reflection of the other spotlights that accompanied its distorted background glimmered on its glassy surface, casting a myriad of colored beams all over the room. Remy LeBeau, one of the establishment's more patronizing customers, allowed his sight to receive the spectacle of rays emitted from said disco ball, it acting like the sun hovering in the sky the dancers below depended on, the syncopated rhythm fittingly transforming into an upbeat tune – the song of the dancers' stars.

As Remy and his cousin, Emil Lapin, neared the counter where their favorite - and in their opinion, the most trustworthy - bartender, Logan, was leaning against, Remy chuckled when he saw the typical group of people seated on stools opposing the table. There was the accountant named Bobby (Remy, when he was on Guild "business," often saw him in the bank of the city, muttering incomprehensible mathematical equations as he merrily scribbled) whom Remy was certain was drinking from his eighth tequila shot-glass, moaning and groaning about his girlfriend, Lorna, "screwing around with his neighbor, Alex."

Now, that was a coincidence, Remy noted, recognizing the man sitting beside Bobby as Alex' elder brother, Scott, who in turn was drooling on his beer mug while his wider-than-saucers eyes followed the actions of Emma Frost, a wealthy, young CEO that knew _Toucher_ as her vice; a drastic change from the money mogul she was during the day, and unassuming seductress at night. Logan even mentioned that Emma worked in the club briefly as a stripper, her only required payment being that her identity as the "White Queen," one of the place's most wanted workers, be kept a secret from her parents, who'd obviously be scandalized at the thought of their precious little angel's alternate profession. Remy would've been glad to inform Emma's mother that her daughter wasn't that great in bed; her hands weren't as deft as Remy would've liked.

It paid to know almost everyone in town; in his trade as a thief, Remy found it useful to have some dirt on just about anyone he'd meet. Take Logan, for example: he wasn't aware of how much Remy knew he was using Scott's infatuation with Emma to his advantage, wooing Scott's girlfriend, Jean, in the process. Now, wasn't it just the other night that Remy, curious to see where Logan had run off to an hour before his break, only to hear, with an understanding smirk, the combined moans of whom he suspected were Logan and Jean, spilling from the hollow walls of the men's restroom?

Remy, after ordering a bourbon from a seemingly out-of-it Logan, rolled his eyes knowingly at Emil, who vanished from the seat next to his. Remy wasn't blind; he let the sounds of Emil's not-too-discreet conversation infiltrate his ears. _So the new girl that caught his eye's named Trish, eh? _Remy concluded, hoping Trish knew that Emil preferred to have his ladies take the lead in bed, especially since he took the meaning of the word "gentleman" to a deeper, more serious level. Remy then chose to let his younger cousin have fun, tearing his gaze from the couple. Yes, he'd definitely have to tease Emil later…

Bored, Remy glanced abruptly at his watch, mildly surprised that no woman brave enough to bring out the beast in him had approached just yet. No matter - it was still early. When Remy was just at the last stage before getting drunk, he'd try to imprint the time before he got lucky in the usually reliable, sober fragment of his mind. He took out his playing cards in a swift fashion, falling into his habit of fiddling with them. As he scanned the room, the lights playing across the enthralling shadows on his face, eyes reminiscent of his passion as a lover, Remy shuffled his favorite deck, the motion of the red and black blurs in his hand connecting his tainted ruby eyes and the accelerated beating of his heart… when he spotted her.

She was definitely no one he'd ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on; his gaze was riveted at the fluid activity of her hips as she swayed, the beats dictating her rhythm. He let his stare travel upwards, allowing his vision to drink in more of the cleavage that boasted of a perfectly-shaped bosom; he almost assented to the plummeting of the cards he was fiddling with, and when he managed to spare them from a tragic, untimely death of the floor of the club, he felt his fingertips surge with the energy he tried so hard to contain; he was sparked by this nameless deity gliding alongside worthless beings.

Remy, his breath caught in his chest, cursed any man who, like him, was devouring the presence of this temptress; the façade that she displayed beguiled him to notice her truly attractive features, slightly tousled russet locks, white-striped tresses brushing a heart-shaped face, radiant emeralds being her eyes. He damned the man she was grinding with currently, her lower areas beckoning to her partner's own. Remy scowled at the blatant bulge bursting from the man's pants, attempting to ignore the similar expression he possibly shared with every other male in her vicinity. Remy then knew that his excitement was mounting, making itself known by means of his own manhood. With mystified eyes, a brow furrowed due to frustration, and his own delectable leer to match her enticing smile, Remy kept his gape fixated on the tempting Rogue, for that was what she was – a rascal after his own heart, and every man who was staring dazedly at her.

_**You build me up  
You knock me down  
Provoke a smile  
And make me frown  
You are the **__**queen of runaround**__**  
You know it's true**_

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**  
A/N:** There, I know it's pathetic. Is it even worth continuing? Aw heck, humor me here and tell me what you think! Remember, if you watched Shrek 2, like the Fairy Godmother says (er, it's paraphrased), "Happiness is just a review away!" It satisfies you, it makes me happy - we both win! Yes, can you tell that I'm begging? Again, I hope you liked this one, even just a little… Adieu, don't forget to review!

_Written on: 06.07.04_


	2. Interlude: Uncertainty and Tension

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, never will be. Unless I get mutated into Stan Lee!

**A/N: **Oh my gosh, I'm alive! Actually, this isn't a delusion – I've updated, except that the chapter below is shorter than we both would like. Why? It's the interlude I mentioned in the first chapter. The purpose of this is to serve as a filler for the intended gaps in my fic, and also a teaser for the next installment. Never mind that school is also behind this, as I've got about a million things due on Monday. Now, isn't my idea grand? ;)

Please don't forget that, as time passes by, and the story progresses into something much more suited for adults, the "R" rating is implicitly stated. I'm just weird like that, being all "figurative" and not getting straight to the point – though I do hope my descriptions make sense, since my muses have gone into hibernation. If you've been observant enough, you'll see that this is a powerless AU, but the remarkable traits of Rogue and Remy's abilities will be woven into different senses of the fic. Thanks, and here's to hoping your expectations will be fulfilled:)

_**Shiver**_** by melancholic**

**Interlude: Uncertainty and Tension**

She would be a fool to not realize the number of hungry stares she was receiving; instead of saving herself or evading attack, the woman known only as Rogue decided to taunt her audience a bit more, in the hope of reversing the roles: them now acting as her willing prey, and she, the relentless predator. Ravenous mouths craved her devil red lips, relishing the poison of her apple; after she had performed a mouth duet with the most recent man who had the nerves to approach her, she dismissively pushed him aside, opening the lines for another to bask in her glow.

They were, it seemed, no different from any other rabbit that burrowed a little too far beyond the safety of the bushes, and into the lair where she was waiting. It started as subtle flirtation; she easing them into her traps, and when they fell, she made it a point to tease and tantalize them; they were aware of the consequences of playing with fire, longing for their demise like Death nurtured its victim.

As time progressed, her façade would sometimes crack – either because of the fact that these games were tiresome, predictable; she was afraid that, in the heat of the night, her being caught unwittingly off-guard would reveal a glimmer of the real Rogue – whose skin was so alluring, so addictive; fingers never seemed to grow weary of stroking the various parts of her body. But yes, as she was a living oxymoron, she was untouchable in a sense that if anybody tried to get under her skin, they'd never live to tell about the experience, suffocating voluntarily into her being.

One would wonder why a woman like Rogue, who had men plummet under her thumbs and entwined to her pinkies (without much effort, to say the least), would be so reluctant and protective of her body, whom foreign individuals swept and penetrated all the time. It was much easier to hike down to the valley below than to excavate the mountain of her soul. That was why, even though her insides were filled by her latest, unsuspecting fatality, this spider would not ever think twice after asphyxiating her prey with her coveted silken threads, plunging her fangs and devouring her partner with the lust that didn't set her soul ablaze; it was, instead, laced with pretenses disguised as passion – and, as expected, the men she was with for now bought her product so greedily and foolishly, overly-satisfied that they never forgot to extend a tip.

Rogue cringed inwardly as the man unlucky enough to fall for her (wasn't he the security guard?) planted his hands onto her breasts, touching them as though he were crushing roses as to sway clumsily and drunkenly against the fast-paced music. In a weak attempt to suppress the urge to slap the poor fellow, Rogue, in turn, gently made her hands travel down his back, gingerly dragging her fingers across his polyester suit, causing him to feel as if he were lying down on a bed of feathers. Unfortunately for him, this sensation wouldn't last forever; another player was coming to challenge him for the acquisition of his turf, and the object of their affection would undoubtedly hand her deed over to him who was definitely more worthy.

———

Remy was growing impatient; now was the time that he showed everybody that nobody, not even the finest creature roaming the planet, could ever make him wait. The reason for why patience wasn't high on Remy's list of virtues was that, especially now, he was becoming too eager, getting the necessity to go someplace private and vainly satisfy himself. But in his heart and gut, he knew that it was a stupid idea – not because it was immoral, but no matter how many times he would think of supposedly arousing thoughts to knock him out of his trance, the answer to his dilemma was so clear, he didn't even need to look thoroughly to discover it. She was what he needed; yes, the girl dancing to her own melodies on the floor, making like the club was her own playground and those who wanted to go down her slide needed to overpass the hurdling beam of the swing first.

The shot glass he was holding groaned and cracked with stress that attributed itself to his emotions – the excitement and debauchery of imagination, the frustration and impatience that came along with it, and the irritating nervousness that made itself at home in the pit of his stomach. How… why? This wasn't how it was supposed to be – he elicited this from the women he was with, them mewing and purring, their silken fur becoming more moist as they lapped up his milk – and now, he was the puppy, clambering unsuccessfully and seemingly inexperienced in this field of flowers, chasing after the butterflies that never landed on his nose.

With a resolute glance at Emil, who was romancing Trish with the passion of a bunny on crack, Remy stood up, pushing the now shattered fragments of the shot glass aside and wiping his palms, moist with perspiration, a hint of blood, and drops of tequila, on his pants, with him accidentally brushing his unsheathed sword. He felt the sharpness and straightness of the blade, wincing and becoming more desperate and determined as he hopped of his stool, and traipsed as casually as a dog in heat could over to the dance floor, his eyes shining with desire, the background music and lights mirroring his feelings.

**(2) Notes:** Yay, I'm so evil – I like delaying hot things, and being sadistic! Ahahaha! ;) I want to thank all those who read and reviewed, making this, apparently, my most successful story. XD


	3. Enjoy the Taste

**Disclaimer: **Is this really necessary? I mean, sure, knowledge is power (yeah, you all know I'll never own the X-Men and Maroon 5 – the truth hurts!), but ignorance is bliss, too! See, people are destroyed by what they know! …er, that'd the last time I'll replace the disclaimer with my would-be philosophies, then? XP

**(1) Notes: **Hello, long time no see! Well, not really, more like… long time no update! Yeah, there's nobody else to blame (except the muses, maybe) for my pathological lateness (I'm like this always; ask ishandahalf). But anyhow, the time the update took isn't important – the fact that it's here should matter more;)

Remy's eyes are red here; don't ask me why. They're a sexy, mysterious mix – and it adds to the chemistry of Rogue and Remy. I mean, so what if I'm writing a powerless AU? Not everything has a scientific or logical explanation, after all! Besides, none of you will be complaining about the eye-color, I presume. ;)

So I'm not going to ramble much as much, since I don't really have other points to clear (review responses this time will be in the next chapter – people are being evil to me, and they're driving me away from the computer because of school). This time around, though, Star-of-Chaos, EmeraldKatsEye (who inspired me to work on this chapter through death threats and Maroon 5 song downloads) and Eileen Blazer are getting cameos as "Robyn," "Kat," and "Eliza" respectively. The idea mentioned by Robyn later belongs to Kat and Eileen – thought I should mention it. Have fun, girls! XD

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**_Shiver_**** by melancholic**

**2. Enjoy the Taste**

He was in a labyrinth now, except the Minotaur that he was seeking wasn't a feared monster; on the other hand, people were gravitating towards this modern-day version of a mythological goddess, instead of straying away. That wasn't discouraging; in fact, it only enticed him further. One of the things that Remy LeBeau enjoyed in achieving something was the fact that he, out of many other people, was the one who emerged victorious. That would definitely be the case with this lady, jiving to the beat like she owned the notes, like the rhythm and melody were made with her in mind.

_If this isn't how a muse looks like, then I don't know what the hell is inspiring me._ Remy paid no mind to the chatters and clatters around him; he pushed people out of the way, using would-be dance moves he learned from Theoren, another Thief. Yes, this was what Thieves did in their spare time – ballroom dance to techno music, as what Remy was doing. He didn't care that he looked like a virus threatening a perfectly fine computer; he was about to spread himself throughout the system, and no cure could hinder him.

Once he made it through the throng, Remy paused for a moment, briefly looking everyone over. Where was she now? He'd been so preoccupied with actually getting into the crowd that he'd lost sight of her. He resisted the _very_ strong urge to beat himself up, and glanced helplessly at nothing. It came to a point where it seemed that someone was able to read his thoughts, because he felt a sharp pain on his left shoulder erupt suddenly, and Remy winced in surprise. Since when did his thoughts create real, bodily pain?

"Hey, you dick! Don't ever let me catch you eyeing my Robyn again, all right?" A raspy voice thundered, and Remy turned, meeting the face of a rather enraged stranger. Raising an eyebrow, Remy noticed that there was an attractive girl whose arm the other man tightly clutched, his breathing heavy. He continued to eye Remy like a vulture, ready to strike if he (Remy) made a move to touch the eggs of the nest. His face sporting a nonchalant expression, Remy nodded coolly.

"Don't worry 'bout it, _homme._ I'm sure ya would do a good job enough o' makin' sure she keeps only t' ya." Remy shot the girl a shrewd but sexy look, and the girl flushed immediately. He then left the couple behind, with Robyn yelling at her boyfriend for his petty attempts at jealousy, and screaming about checking the phone book for where to find mail-order Cajuns.

Remy grinned to himself momentarily; it was another trophy to add to his belt. He actually had no idea why, at normal times, girls migrated to where he, as the bird, led the way; he hadn't been going out much lately. Maybe it was word-of-mouth; prostitutes even offered to pay _him _just to spend another moment longer with them. He was like a heavily advertised book or movie; people's interest grew through others' opinions of him, their intrigue blossomed because of the stories, obsession due to experience – no one ever got tired of being with him, even ten times in a row. Charles Xavier, the owner of _Toucher_, even joked about being open for a job, should Remy ever need one. He always did, he said, but not the kind that Charles was offering.

_Speaking of jobs, I need to work on mine so she'd give me a mind-blowing one back. _He went back into his habit of steady, discreet observation, his eyes peeled for the white lightning in this stormy place that was the Rogue's hair. He thought he saw Bobby the Accountant getting it on with someone on the dance floor (if the moans of "Jean-Paul, Jean-Paul!" were any indication – what would Lorna say if she found out?) and a business associate of his Guild, Warren Worthington, whispering in the ear of a petite lady whose tag read "Eliza." Remy remembered her as one of the establishments' managers. The latter nodded to each other, downed the last of their drinks, and slipped out of the club quietly. This made Remy wonder where his other favorite girl, Ororo, was; they hadn't seen each other in a while. If she had gone with someone like Warren, then she would be almost lucky – see, she was assumingly going to bed with one of the country's richest men. But no woman could ever say they could thank their lucky stars if it wasn't Remy they had with them underneath the covers…

His musings were interrupted by a man speaking in a rapid-fire Australian accent, in which the only words Remy understood were "sexy sheila, money, and hotel." He saw one of his acquaintances, Kat, being escorted by someone who kept playing with his lighter as he spoke, and he expected this guy thought he could play with fire expertly. Remy smirked, about to approach the pair and remind Kat of her last 'encounter' with him, when a flash of white caught the corner of his eye.

The beating of his heart stilled; his blood, though feeling white-hot with desire, froze in his veins. The room, although oblivious to the will of the universe, seemed to conspire with him – the dancers fluidly swept aside, clearing the floor in a clichéd manner. The lights swiveled, focusing on the center of the area where she stood, her beats controlling the ballad playing like what she was doing to the man she was with. In that moment, Remy believed her to be the female side of God, molding a true man from the lowliest soil – what kind of magic did she possess, turning him into this… thing?

The product of her hands committed blasphemy; Remy could see that the Rogue was becoming dissatisfied with what she'd created, if the roll of her eyes and the pout on her full, rosy lips were any indication. Before she could brandish a bunch of plagues to drive the man away, Remy decided to play Moses and, with his staff still very sturdy, set off to fight this club's version of Pharaoh and his cobras with his own snakelike charm.

———

Her palms were the wind, sweeping his sides with a feathery caress. The feeling was so blissful, so addicting… the man was lulled into relaxation amidst the frenzied hormonal storms. Never would he expect that he'd become the baby in the nursery rhyme, when the cradle was rocking, boughs breaking, and he was about to fall all along with it – his tree was uprooted from the ground because the hands that once touched lightly reverted into whips.

Rogue, for her part, almost yawned with boredom and impatience; she wasn't already subtle in her attempts to show the man that his time was up; his routines were too bland and ineffective. After a few more moments of dancing (if you could call the continuous poking of someone's 'best friend' from down under that, begging for a turn with her), she decided that she should've chosen to leave the man in his own endless desert – oases were, more often that not, illusions of the mind anyway.

She resisted the urge to vomit; all in all, her customer was nothing more than scattered puke on the floor. An idea hit her suddenly, like lightning cracks over a desolate sky – she whispered saccharinely into his ears, requesting that he close his eyes to enjoy her tactics more. As if the roles of master and servant were reversed, he did as she asked. She began to force herself to perform acts on him that, if witnessed by the police, would land her on death row without an option for parole.

Even if her hands were disgusted with the object they were handling, she pressed on until she was certain he could produce the effects of her touch, aided only by his mind. Rogue increased the tracks of her exploration, going over all forms of land on the terrain – until the shouts he began to make certified her of a job well done. She wiped her hands on her velvet-green dress, tucking some strands of platinum behind her ears. She followed her ritual after dancing with five or so men, which was to head over to the bar, coerce Logan into giving her a free tequila, and wait for another stranger pretending to be innocent to offer her a drink and dance.

Before she could leave the dance floor, however, someone grasped her hand firmly, tight enough to make her cease her steps, and loose enough to show that he wasn't going to be demanding of her. Rogue knew how to judge a person, partially because of these little gestures. Of course, what was behind the action was the very essence of the man, and she based whom she was going to shower her time upon on the firmness of their grip. It was more important to her than how the man's hair was cut, or his scent. Little did she know that she was going to unwrap the perfect package…

What she saw next made every part of her body malfunction; her heart's beating increased rapidly, even more than the thumping of the speakers due to the hip-hop beats streaming out of them. Her mind became as chaotic as the club was; thoughts going in and out, swirling as quickly as everyone changed partners, with alcohol added into the fray. Her normally fluid body stilled, as though the temperature in the room were tampered without warning. She didn't know whether to be frozen, because she needed the warmth of those snakes he called arms around her – she wanted to be strangled by his embrace! Anything was better than burning under the stare of those fiery coals he had for eyes, drawing her inexplicably nearer with their hypnotic gaze. She knew, at that moment, that she would never be the same person once her body came into full contact with his.

———

Logan sighed against the counter, hoping the seconds would tick by faster. He was getting bored, sitting here with nobody to talk to – Jean was taking too long, doing whatever she was up to in the ladies' room. Maybe it had something to do with the presence of Scott in the place, who was still trying to pursue Emma unsuccessfully. Logan's brow furrowed greatly, and he dug his knuckles into the brazen wood of the tabletop. He was too busy grunting in anger at the thought of his Jeannie with _that_ pathetic excuse of a stick to notice he left marks on the surface of the counter.

_I ain't gonna be played._ He stated resolutely, gulping down another beer as he went. He sighed, tried to restrain himself minimally, and hoped to take solace in watching the different customers instead. He never really knew what he was or what he wanted in life (except maybe for Jean), and that was why he took to bartending. He secretly enjoyed listening to people ramble to him about their problems, miraculously somber at times, or hopelessly slurring with gibberish and flinging tear-stained faces his way. It gave him a sense of being, to know that people trusted him when he couldn't dare gain confidence in himself – he found he had served his purpose, being someone's temporary best friend, though it was unlikely that they'd remember him.

He saw Remy, a sleazy charmer who thought that life was all about booze, babes, and beds, hook up with Rogue, another regular of the club. Though the latter didn't really work here, it was like she did: men asked about her the most; wondered why she left them in the steam after the _most_ smoldering moments, ignored them when they returned, etc. Logan treated Rogue like a sister; he grew protective of her after he'd seen her crying floods about a man called Joseph, which led her to become like this – practically selling her body for revenge, as if to tear down every hurt her ex-beau had caused.

Logan relied on his instincts heavily, from mixing the perfect margarita to telling what kind of person deserved whom. His guts were telling him that, though Remy and Rogue were oblivious to the other's real reasons for being in _Toucher_, they needed the other to even their rocky pasts out, and pave the way for a smooth future. He nodded, noticing the intensity that fueled Remy's eyes, like a volcano on the brink of eruption – Rogue's were, on the other hand, like the pretense of a calm sea before tsunamis struck. It reminded Logan of a poem, which said that the world would end in either fire or ice. He found it funny, especially now – he knew that, contrary to the poem's message, a world would begin from their end.

It was for this explanation, perhaps, that Logan felt the corners of his mouth emerge into a small smile, which increased when he felt Jean's scent waft over him, and her arms slink slowly around his waist. Yes, tonight was definitely good – and not just for one couple.

———

They stared at each other for some time; they had never laid eyes on the sun before. The light was too bright to ignore; the world shriveled away into darkness, with only Remy and Rogue as the inhabitants of the universe. Nothing else, at that moment, existed.

"So, would ya like t' dance?" He asked suddenly, knowing somehow that he needed to be direct with this girl.

For her, the spell wasn't broken; his question seemed as if it were the first sound recognizable to her. "No," she replied, their contact never broken.

Remy usually responded to a woman by means of a corny pick-up line, which actually made her melt into a puddle on the floor, and become putty in his hands simultaneously – but this time, he knew in his gut that this girl was different, for once their eyes locked onto each other's, and his hands secured her fingers, he let his emotions drive him and he went straight into a crash, his lips cradled against her own. Sure, each car crash had its shards of broken glass and junk, leaving its victims almost dead or fatally injured – still, he didn't care. He let his tongue shift into command, driving down the tunnels of her mouth like a car would when its owner wanted it to run out of gas – fast, the pedals pumping wildly, but slow as well, because he knew that its fuel couldn't match the speed he wanted to go.

Rogue was taken aback by this audacious welcome; she parted her lips harshly, desire and doubt both tugging at them. She had never been faced with anyone like this; the sensation was like all the elements of the world at their height: the earth shattering the ground, the water washing her over, the fire turning her insides into ashes, the wind blowing her away. It was also a duel of every kind; a boxing match, where neither wanted to back down; a fencing class where the swordsmen deftly pointed and avoided each others' weapon; tug-of-war, a roll in the sandbox… she could thing of many a million symbols to describe what she was feeling, although she knew none of them could really cover the emotion in such a way it deserved.

After moments of hanging in the balance, Remy and Rogue pulled away in a manner mixed with harshness and mildness – neither of them knew what was next, really. They stared at each other, eyeing their counterpart. It was amazing how somebody, whose features you never even glimpsed in a dream, could be your companion through heaven and hell, forged on earth at the same time.

And that was only a kiss.

**_You chew me up  
And spit me out  
Enjoy the taste  
I leave in your mouth  
You look at me  
I look at you  
Neither of us know what to do_**

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**(2) Notes: **Hahaha, I am evil! DON'T YOU ALL AGREE-laughs manically- Well, there! At least they met, plus things got a little steamy... I say a little, because I guarantee that this'll get hotter in the next chapters. I hope I can live up to that... anyhow, it's almostLent, and you've got to sacrifice and stuff, drop me a review and we can say that you did your part this season. Or something like that. Blame it all on the evil Fairy Godmother from Shrek! XP Adieu, I'll shut up now...


	4. Interlude: Reflection

**Disclaimer: **After all this time, I _still _don't own Remy or Rogue. Some things never change, eh?

**A/N:** …peeks out from her corner Um, hi? I hope you guys remember me! Yeah, I'm melancholic, the pathetic excuse for a writer who left all her fics and readers hanging for the last two years. cringes Yeah, I'm _that_ horrible. Before you guys finish deciding whether to stone me for taking _so freaking long _and fordisappearing off the face of the earth, or bursting into a Hallelujah chorus because I'm back, let me just say that I'M REALLY SORRY! I know that a new chapter isn't enough to make up for it, but I hope that it's a start:-S

If you're wondering why the heck I got the urge to update, I guess it's because I just visited my old account and was struck by how much time had passed since I'd actually written any fan fics. I'm struggling to get back into the groove of things, what with generally being out of the fic world for quite a while, and admittedly, not being as obsessed with the X-Men as I was. Still, I hope that my attempt at a new chapter is decent, that my writing ability hasn't totally deserted me, and that (if you guys still remember the previous events of this story) there's still some sort of continuity between the chapters. Which is why I wrote an interlude, just to test the waters again!

Lastly, before we finally get to it, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to ishandahalf, because I have been the suckiest co-author in the history of the universe. I know this doesn't make up for my unexcused absence, but I do hope that it's something to start of the litany of things I owe her! What if I throw a post make-out and very eager Remy in there? gets down on her knees and pleads

…without further ado, here's the interlude!

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**_Shiver _by melancholic   
**

**Interlude: Reflection**

Rogue stared at the mirror, her breathing coming in ragged gasps as she took in her reflection through the glass stained with dirt and mist. Her lips were swollen, bleeding with love and lust and a thousand other emotions elicited by a searing contact between two mouths, a kiss that swallowed her entirely. She was never one to imagine how getting sucked into a black hole would feel like – now, she was all caught up in the vortex of a stranger with red eyes reminiscent of the blood now pounding dangerously in her veins.

To put it plainly, she felt like a supernova.

She vividly remembered exploding like a firecracker under his touch, the mere contact of his skin igniting sparks that his fingers left in their wake. That was the last coherent thing her mind noticed before it blacked out to the sweet sensation of his lips attacking her own, the world around them bursting into a blur as she faded into him. She surrendered herself to the pull of his embrace; resisting it was as futile an attempt as trying to flee from the infinite gravity of a black hole.

She could have absolutely no way of knowing that just one kiss would feel as though she were being torn apart from herself.

And that was why she ran. She took off like a violently rotating tornado and left nothing but chaos and dust and despair on the dance floor, unmindful of her four-inch stilettos and the very high probability that her heels could snap at the speed she was going, cared less about the arms and hands that hindered her as they sought to stop her or save her. All she could feel was the stinging sensation of tears sliding down her cheeks, mingling with the tingling in her cheek caused by the memory of his skin. She shut her eyes, shut out the ache that settled in her heart and body, every nerve in her system on overdrive because she couldn't decide what need was greater – to stay pressed against him, or to stay as far away as distance would allow.

Rogue stumbled as she slowed down her pace, miraculously managing to find the entrance to the bathroom. She rested her head against the door, fighting the urge to slam her head repeatedly against it, and placed a shuddering hand against the knob as she turned it and shoved herself inside. She dragged her feet against the wet, soiled floor, the sharp clack of her heels against the tiles resonating throughout the hollow walls. She found a moment to be proud of herself for pulling off the extraordinary feat of dashing away like that and _still _leaving her expensive shoes' heels intact – but that thought wasn't enough to keep the numbness from finally seeping through her veins.

What had she done?

She felt like a zombie was glaring back at her through the blurry mirror, her skin drained of its color and the pallor of a ghost on it; eyes wide, bloodshot, momentarily unblinking; tears and runny mascara making her cheeks look like a sorry canvas; and her lips, partly open, tongue fidgeting as though it believed the battle was not yet over and that it expected his tongue to glide aggressively against it once more.

She looked exactly like she did after she shared her last kiss with Joseph.

After that last kiss, where she vowed that she would never, ever let anyone touch her the way he did, let alone move along her mouth in the same manner, as though his soul sought hers out and _connected_ with it.

She had often thought that kisses like that only came along once in a lifetime, and one was only meant to share it with the same person forever. She never thought, never dreamed, never believed that her Joseph would kiss another girl, _on their bed_, the way he kissed her.

Which was why she vowed to erase every memory that he had ever imprinted on her skin, seeking out another's flesh for another memory. Each time a different skin had brushed hers, she felt like she was on fire – but not with passion. She was scorched by anger, stoked by the desire to prove that she could succeed in forgetting how he tasted like, the flames of anger licking at her and fuelling her on.

But she could only go so far before she had nothing left to be burned with.

How then, did she turn into the proverbial moth attracted to the flame?

The moment her gaze locked with his devil-red eyes, she should have known better.

The moment her lips locked with his the inferno caused by his mouth, she should have known better.

But she didn't, and wouldn't.

Rogue curled her firsts and forced her eyes shut, suppressing a scream.

She didn't notice the door opening behind her and that the new image reflected by the mirror was ready to let all hell break loose.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, it's still short, and I'm still mean... but come on, did you expect any better? ;) Though... tt'd be a really great thing if you guys could leave a review and tell me if I'm still doing this properly. Or, there's also the whole pitchfork, torch-wielding, and garden-hose strangling option. ;) Seriously, though! I'm going to try and get the next chapter up soon - rest assured it won't take another two years - and I hope you guys stick with me for the ride. :) 


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